


frank sinatra's "i love you baby"

by you_know_its_actually_funny



Series: One Summer In Suburbia [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bad Decisions, Domestic Violence, Emotions, Everyone's gay, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Frequent Abuses of Grammar, Friendship, Gay, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Grammar is my bitch, High School, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Karama's Got It's Kiss For Loki, M/M, Pining, Shitty Dads Club, Smoking, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Way Too Many Characters in One Scene, Wow! Local Idiot Doesn't Know When Story Concept Has Run It's Course, author couldn't write a metaphor if you held a glock to her head, bordering on crack in some parts tbh, loki is a slippery fucker and no one likes him, losers - Freeform, no really, similes??? don't know her, tony is a love sick teenager and must be protected at all costs, whoah nelly!! will she ever stop tagging??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_know_its_actually_funny/pseuds/you_know_its_actually_funny
Summary: "Why would I want to run into Loki?""Because you're in love with him." Bruce's tone is as mild as ever.Tony's pen falls onto the table in a loud clatter. "Wh-what! Bruce-Bruce, that's-ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous.""Huh," Bruce says without much bravado. "Too bad, cos he's right over there."--Tony just owes Loki a favour. That'sit.Shut up.





	frank sinatra's "i love you baby"

**Author's Note:**

> so I finally grew the fuck up and sat down and wrote some fanfiction for the first time in fuckever.
> 
> (PS: I call Nebula "Nebbie" in this because I can buy a teen called Gamora and Loki but Nebula is just too gay).
> 
> this is a continuation but you can really do what you want
> 
> (PPS: I literally JUST remembered in canon Gamora and Nebula are Thanos' children. yeah, uh.....that's not in this akhfahkshkasd they're still terrifying in this fic but they're happy primary-coloured-kids rights!!!)

Tony Stark is many things but in love is not one of them.

So what if even after Loki screams at him, smacks him over the head—“ _Stupid stupid stupid!_ ”—Tony still has that dopey expression on his face? So what if even after Loki snatches up his belongings with a murderous glare and trots off, Tony falls back onto the grass, breathless from a race be doesn’t remember running? So what if Tony practically skips home and twirls into his bedroom decidedly more pink-faced than when he left it?

So what if Tony has played Frank Sinatra’s _I Love You Baby_ for the twelfth time today?

So _what_?

So nothing, that’s what.

Sure, he’s been thinking about Loki a lot. How can he not, after a night like that? So much new information: Loki knows drug dealers! Loki hates his dad! Loki likes _unicorns_! He can’t help himself from looking forward to the next time they’ll meet.

Maybe he’ll swing by his house and charm his way passed his father and surprise him. Maybe he’ll whisk him up and show him his lab (Loki would _love_ that) and they can talk science all night. Maybe he’ll just hang around the local mall for the next week, wandering around aimlessly until they run into each other and _oh my, what are the chances, fancy meeting you here, what a fantastic coincidence_ —

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder and pulls him from his thoughts.

“You need to stop,” [Bruce Banner](http://i.huffpost.com/gen/2380878/images/n-MARK-RUFFALO-200x150.jpg) urges desperately, his ever sleep-deprived eyes looking more bruised than usual.

Tony gives him a confused look.

They’re sitting at a table on the edge of the food court, a large diet coke between them. And yes, Tony supposes he is doodling unicorns on his napkin and he might have been humming his new favourite song.

“Got something against the classics, Brucie?” Tony asks defensively.

“I do when it’s the only thing my left ear has been hearing for the past hour,” Bruce says, squeezing the bridge of his nose, eyes screwing shut. Tony looks at how he’s practically falling asleep on the table and only feels a little bad for dragging him out of bed and into the shopping mall for the fourth day in a row. It’s not _his_ fault Bruce isn’t medically allowed coffee. “Okay,” he lifts his head to sit it on his palm, his other hand absently playing with one of the straws sticking out of the cup, “we’ve looked at the fish in the pet-shop, we’ve insulted the old German guy at the candy store _and_ we’ve snuck into a theatre that was screening what could only be a Teletubby re-run. Is there _anything_ else you wanted to do here?”

Tony goes back to doodling, shrugging one shoulder. “I dunno. I like coming here. It’s summer vay-cay, we can do what we like.”

“For the fourth time this week?”

“Well yeah, but only because—”

“You wouldn’t be coming here hoping to run into Loki, would you?”

Every crevice in Tony’s body immediately clenches. He regrets telling Bruce all about that night. Except, he doesn’t at all, really, because how could he ever keep his mouth shut?

In the end, he exhales a hot breath. “Pffft, what? Come on, that’s……creepy, why would I want to run into Loki?”

“Because you’re in love with him.” Bruce’s tone is as mild as ever.

Tony’s pen falls onto the table in a loud clatter. “Wh-what! Bruce— _Bruce_ , that’s—what makes you even—why would you even— _I_ don’t even—ridiculous! That’s—absolutely ridiculous.” Because it _was_ , honestly, where did Bruce get off on an idea like _that_? Tony Stark in _love_? Ha! Tony Stark in _love_ with _Loki_? Haha! HA! Absolutely ridiculous.

“Huh,” Bruce says without much bravado. “Too bad, cos he’s right over there.”

The pen and napkin fly onto the floor in one grand swoosh as Tony spins in his seat to look where Bruce nods to.

Sure enough Loki is not ten feet away, dressed in a thinly striped sleeved shirt, looking at a nail polish display, slurping on a berry smoothie.

Tony doesn’t even have time to curse his own impulsivity before he’s sprung from the table and is barrelling over, and it’s not until he’s skidded to an awkward stop that he realizes he hasn’t prepared a thing to say.

Loki looks up from where he’d been admiring a bottle of liquid black and only looks mildly surprised. Tony stumbles and clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, hey,” he starts nervously. Loki doesn’t look angry to see him, in fact his brows raise delightfully. Tony gestures to the display tensely. “Nail polish, huh? I hear wine red is very, um, in.” He coughs again.

Loki waits a few beats before placing the bottle he was holding back and lifting his smoothie up to his lips to suck at the straw. When the silence becomes uncomfortable ( _more_ uncomfortable) Tony decides to throw any promise of nonchalance to the wind and bites the bullet.

“So, uh, sorry about breaking your phone in half when I got high. I thought it would be funny. Not because I was breaking your stuff! Just, the whole burner phone thing. But I guess I could’ve just made a joke…..verbally. Uh. Yeah. Sorry.”

Loki, damn him, doesn’t say a word. He just continues playing with the straw, staring at Tony intently through his lashes. Is he….angry? He doesn’t look angry. In fact, Tony thinks, he looks like a bird admiring a particularly shiny bauble. Maybe Loki has forgiven him. It _was_ just a practical joke, right? A funny one even! Besides, weren’t flip phones like thirty bucks these days?

Tony knew they’d be laughing about this in no time.

Mood climbing higher, Tony tries his cutest smile. “Um, but I had a lot of fun. That night.” Blushing wasn’t a part of the plan, but Loki actually _bats his eyelids_ and suddenly everything feels very hot. He coughs out a small laugh and scratches the back of his neck again. “I was actually wondering if….you wanted to….hang out? Again?” He looks at him, eyes twinkling.

Loki releases the straw from his mouth, smiling shyly downwards. He gives a great sigh, casually popping the lid off his drink. “Oh, Anthony,” he murmurs affectionately, and when he looks up again the fluttering eyes have turned cold and predatory and before Tony has time to register anything Loki is pouring smoothie all over the top of his head.

Vaguely, Tony hears Bruce gasp some ways behind him but he’s petrified to the spot. He stands there in the middle of the shopping mall, still as a statue, staring at Loki’s ice green eyes, feeling the pink fruity goodness gooping down the sides of his face, and tries to think about how exactly this all went so very wrong.

The drink is thick enough for it to be a long, humiliating process.

When the cup is empty Loki smiles sweetly, even scrapes off a line of syrup making its way along Tony’s brow. Then he _licks it off his finger_. Eventually Tony hears the sound of the plastic cup being thrown in the trash and footsteps echoing away and if it weren’t for the nail polish merchant suddenly turning and spotting the mess and starting to yell, or Bruce rushing up with a hand full of serviettes to apologise and lead him away, Tony thinks he might’ve just melted into the floor along with the drink.

It’s outside, by the water fountain, where Tony embraces the realization.

“I’m in love with him,” he murmurs. Bruce immediately stops scrubbing the sugar out of his hair.

“Excuse me? Did you see what just happened?”

“I’m in love with him,” Tony repeats, almost wildly. “Bruce. Bruce you were right, it’s meant to be, he’s the only one—”

“ _Tony_. He just poured Jamba Juice on your _head_.”

Tony whips his head up. “To test me. To scare me off.” He gasps, newfound knowledge brimming inside him. “I have to make it up to him.”

Bruce leans back. “ _You_ need to make it up to _him_ ,” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Tony feverishly.

“Tony—”

“You said it yourself Bruce.”

Bruce quickly waves his hands. “I was joking, I was making fun of you, god, please don’t take me literally.” But Tony has already sprung to his feet, ignoring the wet napkins that fall off his neck and shoulders.

“This is like an epiphany. My world view has never been so clear.”

“Or deluded! Tony. _Tony_ ,” Bruce says, scrambling to his side, “Loki is psychotic—he’s imbalanced! He doesn’t have any friends and he _likes_ not having any. I once saw him save a little kids’ ice-cream cone just so he could drop it himself.”

“Fuck, he’s so sexy….”

“And!” Bruce adds quickly, sensing he’s losing him, “I know he and you had a nice…….. _moment_ , that night—”

“It was _such_ a nice moment…..”

“But! You were smoking weed, yes?” Tony nods and Bruce eagerly nods back, hoping he’ll catch on. “So maaaaaybe you were a little…..” He tries to gesture Tony along, but he only stares blankly. “….high?” he finishes.

Tony locks him in an unrelenting gaze. “I have never been more sober in my life. No way, Brucie Bear. This is it. He’s Leia and I’m Solo. He’s Carrie and I’m Mr Big.” He looks off into the distance. “And Johnny’s gotta get Baby a new phone.”

And with a chaste kiss to Bruce’s cheek, he struts off.

Bruce sits on the curb, head in a whirlwind. “He really thinks he’s Mr Big?”

__

Repaying Loki turns out to be a lot less dramatic than Tony thought. It only takes one of his extra, unopened, ultra-expensive phones dug out from one of his draws, put in a box and slapped with a few cute stickers delivered to Loki’s front door and Tony considers a good deed done.

—

It’s the second day of Loki Not Coming To Tony With His Immense Gratitude (working title). Tony’s moved on from Frank Sinatra and onto _Nothing Compares to You_. The Prince version.

—

Day three of Loki Not Coming To Tony With His Immense Gratitude (okay, so he couldn’t come up with  anything catchier, sue him, he has the lawyers).

“STRIKE! Fourth one in a row! Applause, please.”

“Fuck off Clint. No one’s even having fun anymore.”

Natasha’s only half-right, because Bruce has just gotten his second chocolate milkshake at the bar and has gotten little stars in his eyes. He won’t be leaving it any time soon but that’s fine, Tony’s been taking his turns for the past hour, but even with their combined “mega score” they’re still ways behind Clint and his stupid hawk-eyes.

The bowling alley is almost deserted. Even with school holidays on, no one has a schedule _that_ lacking to be on their second game at 2pm on a Tuesday.

Clint’s bounding over to retrieve his ball with a giant grin and begins lining up strike number five.

“Bunch of sore losers. The lotta you.”

It’s then [Peter Quill](https://pixel.nymag.com/imgs/daily/vulture/2014/08/06/06-chris-pratt-everwood.w700.h700.jpg) and his crew slide into the lane next to them. Gamora’s not among them and Tony makes sure not to notice extra hard.

“Well, well, well,” Peter says, hands in his stupid 80’s denim jacket’s acid green pockets. “Well, well, well, well, well—”

“What are you, a prospector?” Tony says. He looks to Natasha and Bruce who are unimpressed. “Get it? Wells. Like prospecting times.”

Peter Quill and Tony Stark should be two peas in a pod—honestly, two white sarcastic assholes? Someone call Cupid because he just lost a couple arrows! The only problem is that Quill is dumb. Like, textbook dumb. He’s a good right-hand to have in a drunk shenanigan every now and then, but in the meantime Tony is perfectly fine being only mildly annoyed by his presence. At least he brought Drax. That guy is the coolest.

“I’ll be prospecting your _asses_ when I kick them with my awesome bowling skills, bichaz!” Quill scoops up a ball with blue swirls.

“Ass-prospecting seems like a poor investment,” says Drax, the absolute legend. He picks up the largest bowling ball out of all of them and holds it in his massive palms. “This is the one I chose.”

“Buddy, pal, Drax, baby,” Rocket, the tiny, scrappy kid who’s somehow managed to grow half a face of stubble since Tony last saw him says. He comes up to him and gently takes the ball out of his hands. The ball’s almost as big as his head. “Everyone _knows_ that you have to hold your bowling ball like this oh look it’s my turn might as well use this one now that I have it thanks!” He trots over to the alley proudly.

Drax looks crestfallen. “Now I have nothing.”

“Hey, Drax,” Bruce says. “Wanna sit at the bar and drink milkshakes and do absolutely nothing else with me?”

“Yes!” Drax exclaims, clapping his hands together with a laugh. “Yes! Yes!”

“STRIKE FIVE!” Clint shouts, twirling into a pose, capturing the attention of the ranks.

Quill’s brows pull together. “You guys started without us?”

Tony looks at him. “We didn’t _invite_ you.”

_“I am Groot! I am Groot! I am Groot!”_

“Ugh, hang on guys, I gotta check on Groot.” Rocket chases the tiny voice into his pocket and pulls out a slim device.

“Does your tamagotchi need to be burped?” Tony almost hides the comment under his breath, but it’s too late. Rocket immediately bristles and stalks up to Stark with an expression that clearly doesn’t give a damn about the almost two foot height difference.

“For the last time, _Stark_ , Groot is a Type II A.I that I _created_ —”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh please, I was creating comprehensive motherboards when I was six.”

“—and raised through operant conditioning and reactionary re-run cycles—”

“It can say _one line_ over and over again.”

“—and he’s one upgrade away from evolving into a Type III with a twenty terabyte memory implant and he’s beautiful and honest and _I’m going to teach him to love!_ ”

“Is anyone paying attention to my perfect game? That’s, like, actually a big deal for someone my age.” Clint goes ignored.

Quill gets between Rocket and Tony. “Let’s stop there guys. There’s no competition in bowling.”

“There’s one winner, it’s obviously a competition,” Tony says.

“Then I’m going to beat you in it,” Rocket sneers.

“Uh, _yeah_ , that’s how competitions _work_.”

Some employees are starting to give them side-eye so they quickly get on with the game.

“ _’Star-Lord’_?” Natasha echoes, reading the scoreboard. Quill beams, leaning against the bar beside her.

“Yeah, it’s my DJ name. Tryna get it to stick, get some traction, you know? I got three whole new follows on my Soundcloud page last week.”

While Natasha doesn’t even try to look impressed, Tony lines up his ball. “This one’s for you, Brucie Baby!” He lunges with all his might and the ball goes spinning into the gutter.

Tony deflates. He turns to Bruce, who shrugs. Everyone’s too embarrassed to laugh but Rocket, who’s currently bent over at the stomach.

“I think you did wonderfully, Tony,” Drax says.

“Oh thank god, Drax approves, that’s all I need,” Tony exhales, dragging himself over the bar.

Rocket declares something triumphant but Tony pays no attention. As the teens all watch him struggle to carry his massive bowling ball let alone line up a shot, Tony pulls out his phone. He sighs.

“Still no Loki?” Bruce asks.

“No,” Tony whines.

“Fuck him,” Natasha says. “Honestly. Save yourself some respect.”

Quill leans over. “Who are we talking about?”

“Tony’s in love with Loki. You know, Laufeyson?” she fills in.

“Who’s that?”

“Yeah, not really looking to make this into a group convo type thing—” Tony starts.

“Serial killer dad? Drinks blood?” Natasha continues. “Looks like the backup singer to an emo band from 2005?”

“Oh! Yeah, that guy graffitied my locker once. What about him?”

“Really? What did he write? No, actually, I don’t care—you know, this is kind of a private issue?”

“Tony’s in love with him.”

Tony buries his face in his hands.

“What!” Quill exclaims, face wide with delight. “Tony’s in love with Loki the emo vampire?”

“No, not a vampire, it’s just the blood drinking he does,” Natasha corrects. “Fact-checked.”

“Who wants to drink whose blood?” Drax interjects, very confused. Tony groans. He’s clearly in hell. This bowling alley is on fire and he’s on fire because he’s in hell.

“Gotcha,” Quill says, adjusting his lean. “No, yeah, Gamora talks about that guy all the time.”

Tony’s head snaps up. “What? Gamora knows Loki? How? When? In what way?”

“Yikes.”

“Shut up, Nat.”

“Oh, nah, she doesn’t know him, her sister does. Apparently he’s in some shit with her and I know literally nothing about it, but apparently he agreed to steal alcohol with her, because he has a fake ID, but he ended up bailing on them and leaving with the liquor money and she ended up in juvie for like three days.”

“That sounds like you know literally everything about it,” Natasha deadpans.

Tony’s head whirls. “Do you know what he’s up to now? Did she mention anything about a new phone—real shiny, top of the line—possibly with a hint of jealousy?”

“No, but she _did_ mention her sister was throwing a party in her apartment tonight.” He pauses, looking very satisfied. “And that things were going to get _bitchy_.”

“HA! Strike!” Rocket suddenly cheers from the alley.

“No one cares, Rocket,” Clint says empathetically.

“Awww.”

Soon Tony and the gang pack up and head off, despite the whines and begs of Quill (hey, they _were_ already on their second game, the natural life span for finding bowling fun). Natasha and Clint immediately drive off but Bruce stops Tony in the parking lot.

“Hey. If Loki contacts you tonight, you know it’s because of some scheme with Gamora’s sister, yeah? Is that as obvious as I think it is? You know that, right? I need to know that you know, because you must know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony grumbles. Bruce drops it after that, which Tony’s grateful for. They both know he’s not going to listen to any advice anyway.

—

_Ping!_

6pm on the fucking dot.

Tony bounds out his front door and has just enough time to collect himself and get into a casual position before Loki turns and looks up. He’s wearing another long sleeved shirt with a little sewn rose on the pocket. He’s also holding his new phone.

Loki looks Tony up and down and smirks. He looks back down at his phone as he slowly saunters forward, tapping away with painted nails. After three steps Tony feels another ping from his pocket and pulls his own phone out.

 _I’d like to cash in that favour_.

Tony swallows and looks up. “I’m sorry for dumping that juice on your head,” Loki says. Ah, less romantic than Tony was feeling a second ago, but at least he looks genuinely apologetic.

“It was a smoothie,” he corrects. “A really, really thick smoothie.”

Loki bites his lip. “I’m really, really sorry?”

Tony holds his resolve for exactly three seconds. “Yeah okay I forgive you. What’s up?”

Loki looks at the sports car parked behind black iron gates. “Be my chafer? I have a party invite. I would catch the bus, but for reasons I don’t want to mention I need to make a good entrance. Also, fresh nails, you know how it is.”

“Let me guess,” Tony says, shoving his hands into his pockets as he steps forward. “You’re going to Gamora’s sister’s party, and you need to make a good entrance because last time you saw her you got her arrested.”

“I didn’t _get her arrested_ ,” Loki immediately retaliates, rolling his eyes. He looks like he wants to defend his case more, but closes his mouth. He deflates. “If you can’t it’s no issue. It’s not like I’m forcing you. It was just a thought.” Loki makes it two steps before Tony stops him.

“We can take the Lexus. My dad will know if we touch the Bentley.”

And so now Tony is driving very responsibly with a very clear head down the expressway. Except he isn’t because Loki fluttered those stupid lashes at him again and Tony’s stupid heart did the bodily equivalent of ripping it’s clothes off in one swoop like Jim Carey in Bruce Almighty. So now Tony is sitting in the passenger’s seat trying not to grip the door handle too obviously whilst Loki murders the fourth gear.

They arrive at the party very, very quickly.

It’s apparently being held in a tiny, ugly apartment block on a street with one working street light. The driveway is uneven and the letter boxes have graffiti. Tony can already hear the music booming from one of the apartments on the second floor as Loki pulls in, and can see a purple glow emitting from the one windows that isn’t boarded up.

Tony doesn’t know why the hell they had to take a sports car to make a good entrance. He thinks just arriving with two shoes would get you some raised middle fingers.

Loki stops the car. There’s a small group of kids leaning near the door, smoking.

“Well, thanks for flying Air Tony,” Tony says and immediately cringes, because it’s maybe the stupidest attempt at humour he’s made yet. Loki doesn’t answer. He’s preening himself in the mirror, pushing his black locks back.

“You’re not coming in?” he asks suddenly.

“I thought I was just your chaffer,” Tony says cautiously.

“Well, considering I actually drove and you’re here already……” Loki looks at him. “You don’t have to. I’m not forcing you.”

Isn’t he? Somehow Tony doubts that. He can’t remember doing a single thing he hadn’t been reeled into by the fucker in the past hour. But hey, free alcohol. He just shrugs, which is always the coolest answer and they both climb out of the car.

The kids by the entrance don’t give them any trouble but they sure do glare. Loki ignores them, almost bouncing into the building and up the stairs. He knocks on the door to apartment number three and it immediately clicks open to reveal a chick Tony would only describe as emo, which is insane, because he’s pretty sure they all died off back in 2009.

The music is already so loud he can’t overhear what her and Loki say to each other, but she doesn’t look happy to see him either. Maybe it’s Loki’s friendship thing? Loki waves him in with a gleeful expression and they enter into a lounge room. Sand coloured carpet, bright orange three-seater along the back wall, a screen on the wall projecting some black and white horror movie compilation and boxes topped with beer bottles and ashtrays. It’s dark, the only lights either stringed up on the walls or mounted LEDs pulsing cold, royal colours, and Tony can see the metal in the ears of all the youths that fill up the room glint. It’s definitely not the crowd he’s used to. He’s not even a hundred per cent sure this is a party, because no-one’s dancing— everyone’s slouching and drinking and smoking, looking very uninterested in just about everything. The room smells so much like tobacco Tony has to cough.

“Neb’s in the back room,” Tony hears the girl who let them in say and he follows Loki down a hall that’s more of the same. There’s a fist-sized hole in the wall and when he peeks into the kitchen—the only place so far that has the lights on—he doesn’t see a fridge.

At the end of the hall is a bead divider and it’s all very dramatic when Loki pulls them aside to unveil Gamora’s sister, Nebbie, sitting between two other girls on a low couch. If Tony thought the lounge room spelt like cigarettes it’s nothing compared to here.

Nebbie is terrifying to look at. Tony only manages it head-on for a couple seconds. Head shaved bald, weird tattoos that _have_ to be a hit list and a little too much leather to be comfortable. She’s so skinny her cheek bones look like gashes in her face, her collar bones protruded enough to give her otherwise well fitted jacket some give.

Loki stands politely in front of the coffee table, smiling. Nebbie definitely isn’t. The entire room grows stiff.

“You weren’t invited,” she says lowly. Her glare somehow makes the low angle an advantage.

“I don’t need to be invited,” Loki says sweetly.

“No, you just don’t care to ask because you know no one wants you around.”

“I couldn’t ask,” Loki says, flipping his phone over in his hands. “New phone, see.”

“Which drug dealer bought you that?”

“Anthony!” Loki says cheerfully, twirling around to present him. Nebbie’s spotlight glare seems to illuminate him to the whole room and he decides he should’ve stayed in the car.

“Tony……Stark?”

“Das me.” Tony shuffles.

Nebbie smiles and it’s so much more chilling than the glare. She rests her chin on her palm. “So you bring the guy who’s been boning my sister to a party you weren’t invited to a week after sending me to jail? Sounds like I’m three seconds away from beating the shit out of you.”

“’Jail’? Nebbie, please,” Loki says, still as casual as ever. “You had to stay at the station overnight. It’s not my fault the police found out about your parking ticket collection.”

“Yes it is!” Nebbie suddenly yells, brimming with emotion. “Yes it _is_ , Loki, because you called them!”

“ _Nebbie_. The liquor guy was sizing me up, he saw you loitering about outside ( _great_ hiding place by the way), he was about to call over his manager! At that point I have limited options. I either keep my face up and the manager sees my ID, or I point out the clearly no-good, free-loading maybe _dangerous_ teenagers sitting outside and how they’re destroying the neighbourhood and that if he wasn’t just about to start calling the authorities I would. Ergo: I give trust. I get trust.”

“You gave him a lie and sent me to jail. I don’t think you’ve gained trust from anyone. You could have told me.”

“How suspicious would it be for me to go over to the teenagers I had just reported?”

“And you didn’t have to run off with the liquor.”

“That the cashier had just seen me buy for _myself_?”

“My car got towed, Loki!”

“And I kept my ID!”

 _This little shit might just talk his way out of this one_ , Tony thinks with no small amount of astonishment.

They stand off for a couple seconds. He can almost hear Nebbie’s teeth grinding over the weird music.

“I want a bottle of Sky. The big ones,” she snaps. Loki does an inclines of his head that ends up looking like a small curtsy. “And Brooklyn Gin. And I want a case of beer.”

“That all?” Loki asks sweetly.

Nebbie goes a bit pink and quickly looks at the others in the room before mumbling, “……and two bottles of Passion Pop.”

“Anything for you, darling,” Loki says, finally stepping over the coffee table and squeezing in between the others on the couch. He snatches a cigarette right out of a girl’s mouths and starts smoking it. “Now. Let’s actually start this party, mm?”

Tony warms up to the vibe eventually. He appreciates the whole ‘kick-a-hole-in-the-wall-fuck-the-police’ vibe, even though he’s never had the exact urge to break bottles. The music’s not even that terrible now that he’s been listening to it for a while.

Nebbie also turns out to not be _that_ scary. It seems when she’s not confronting someone the only other emotion she can express is stiff awkwardness. Tony asks her where she met her girlfriend and the poor woman’s head goes pink almost all the way around.

Tony wonders how Loki and them all know each other. He wonders if this is Loki’s scene or if he’s just passing through. Are all his friendships based on owing people alcohol?

He had hoped he could actually have a conversation with Loki at some point but then Loki starts drinking and holy hell Tony did not take him for a light weight. It’s not another hour before Tony has his arm over his shoulders, cautiously leading him out through the hazard that is the apartment, thanking everyone for the hospitality as they flick ash onto the carpet. The make it down the stairs,  Loki giggling the entire way and they exit into the hot air of the night.

When Tony sees his car he freezes. Those kids that were hanging around the entrance are gone but the beer bottle lying on the concrete along with the shattered glass of his car definitely only has one culprit.

“Holy shit.” Tony all but let’s Loki drop to the ground. He walks up to the window, blinking.

No. Not _his_ car. _Dad’s_ car.

“Fffffffffffffffffffffffffuck,” he hisses under his breath, pulling his hair. Loki pulls himself upright behind him.

“Oh no. Will you get in trouble for that?”

“Uh……” Honestly? Tony doesn’t know. He can’t remember the last time Howard parented him. He can’t even remember the last time he fucked up this bad. “Let’s just…..let’s just get home.”

The drive home is quiet. Loki hums along to the radio. Tony feels like half their relationship has been nothing but tense, silent car trips and he hates it. But who is he kidding himself. What relationship? He just owed Loki a favour. That’s _it_. He’s been a loser all night. Loki’s wearing _nail polish_.

Hang on. Tony looks over at said nails, tapping away on Loki’s knee. “Wine red?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

Loki looks at him, then at his hand. “Hm? Oh…..yeah,” he smiles like he’s just gotten caught doing something he shouldn’t. “It’s in this season.”

Tony might as well have just done a line of coke. Suddenly he’s glad for the gaping hole in his window because he might’ve died from instant heat stroke otherwise.

Maybe this night isn’t complete bogus. Maybe Loki actually wanted him at the party.

“So…..I talked to Quill today. Y’know Peter Quill?” Loki gives a small noise of affirmation. “Well, the little birdie told me that you gratified his locker once. What’d you write?”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “You want to know what I wrote on Peter Quill’s locker in ninth grade?” he doesn’t sound annoyed. “How could this possibly be of any interest to you?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy,” Tony continues. “But I can’t imagine you were stumped for choices.”

“I was stumped because there were so many. _And_ he had to understand it. In the end I just wrote ‘everything is where you left it’.”

Tony snorts. “Classic. Psychological warfare.”

“Warfare that _failed_. He kept it up for the whole year, said it was an inspirational quote he coined himself and suspiciously always had somewhere to be whenever someone asked him what it meant.”

Tony laughs. _Quill, buddy_.

They giggle until Tony pulls up to Loki’s house to see the front light on and a large silhouette standing under it. The car immediately goes silent. Loki stares, unmoving. Tony breathes once, twice, then, “is that your dad?”

Loki’s hands clench. He obviously didn’t expect to be greeted. “Unfortunately.” His voice lacks the bite it’s had all night. Loki looks down at his lap, takes a deep breath and then looks at Tony with a smile. “Thanks for driving me!” He gets out, closes the door and leans down to wave through the window and Tony slowly waves back and it feels like the least sincere thing he’s ever done. Loki straightens up and continues to stand by the car until Tony realizes with a jolt that he’s waiting for him to leave. Feeling tightness in his chest, he does.

He arrives to his own house a few minutes later and when the car is turned off and the garage is closed up he sits there in the driver’s seat. He pulls out his phone and dials.

“ _Tony? What do you want?_ ” Howard sounds irritated, but that’s nothing new. He also sounds very awake despite the hour, which is also nothing new.

“Hey dad. I broke another car. Just the window though.”

“ _What—? Hang on—_ ” Talking and footsteps and murmuring. It sounds crowded on the other line. Tony’s not even sure where Howard is right now. Maybe it’s not so late for him. Tony waits long enough that he could almost believe the man had forgotten he was even on the phone.

“Dad?”

“ _What—Tony? Tony—I’m very busy right now, you know not to call when I’m working._ ”

“You’re always working,” Tony just can’t help but say, even under his breath. “I broke the car,” he repeats, louder. “Not my fault.”

“ _Okay—no, this’ll be over in a second, no, hang on a sec—then call the dealership, okay? I don’t have time for this_.”

The call ends. Tony leans his head back and listens to the even tempo of the car telling him his lights are still on, and eventually falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
> 
> passion pop is australian culture but i had to include it because it's one step above sparkling grape juice that tastes like sugar and gets you about as buzzed as a large coffee and i'll defend them until my dying breath
> 
> (I'm sorry I had to use a pic of Chris Pratt where he still looks way too old but in actual high school he looked like [this](http://www.classmates.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Chris-Pratt-Senior-Yearbook-Photo.png) and I just couldn't do that to him)


End file.
